Frontman Sam Cromack talks about their new album Like Love, the impact of ‘Please Don’t Move to Melbourne’, and the power of Marrickville Pork Rolls
Ball Park Music have long been crowned Australia’s ‘loveliest band’. Their songs, sweet with a hint of melancholy, are the perfect companion to any mood, at any time of the day. You could be drowning in a bad mood or feeling on top of the world, and somehow, their music would seem to fit. In a world full of unreliable artists, they’re that rare breed of consistency that remains interesting. And after spending some time talking to Sam Cromack, it’s clear: they’ve earned it, both as a band and as people.
I spoke with Cromack from his Brisbane home, where he was lounging on his bed. At first, it felt like an odd place to start an interview—intimate, perhaps a little too personal—but in a way, it made perfect sense. Ball Park Music have always had a knack for turning the personal into the universal. There’s something about their songs that makes you feel like they’re speaking to you, but not just to you—everyone.
“Life’s back to normal now,” Cromack tells me casually, referring to the cyclone Alfred that recently put Brisbane on high alert. “I took all the precautions. Moved a million pot plants and tables.” He laughs, but you can hear the relief in his voice. “I was fine though. And then I watched those videos of surfers riding cyclonic waves, and I thought, ‘Yeah, that’s it. I’m officially proud of this city.’”
There’s something genuinely endearing about Cromack’s patriotism, his love for Brisbane. It’s the kind of subtle pride you’d expect from a band like Ball Park Music—a band that, though soft-spoken, has always had a way of speaking for the people.
And now, with their eighth album, Like Love, just days away from release, Cromack is getting ready to share more of that. The album explores love in all its shapes and sizes—parenthood, falling in and out of relationships, long-term commitment, lust. It’s a raw, honest exploration of what it means to love and be loved.
“I’ve written a lot of love songs,” Cromack admits, as though it’s no big deal. “But this one felt different. For the first time, I looked at the songs and thought, ‘Wow, love is really the central theme here.’ I was exploring everything—parenthood, lust, relationships breaking down… I wasn’t trying to limit it. It felt natural.”
As we talked, there was barely a week left until the album’s release, but Cromack didn’t seem nervous. Not even a bit. “I don’t feel nervous anymore,” he shrugs. “Some people get weird about the distance between writing a song and it actually being out there. You spend all this time in the studio, and then suddenly, you’re like, ‘Oh shit, the record’s coming out.’”
Still, he admits, there’s something about releasing an album that feels like a milestone. “It’s always a big deal. It’s still a special day, no matter how many times we’ve done it.”
But recording Like Love wasn’t exactly smooth sailing. In fact, Cromack described it as “weird”—in a good way. “You don’t really hear the finished song until it’s done. It’s kind of funny—you record it, but you haven’t actually played the final version yet.”
There’s an honesty in Cromack’s words, like he’s letting us in on the secret. And on this record, everything seems to be clicking into place a little easier than usual.
“I kept thinking, ‘Did we actually make a good record? This is all falling together too easily.’” He laughs, as though the whole thing is a happy accident.
The band recorded the album in ten days at the Marrickville studio Golden Retriever. Ten songs, ten days. And the name Marrickville? That immediately brings to mind Marrickville Pork Rolls—so naturally, I had to ask if they indulged in the local delicacy while recording.
“Hell yeah, we did! We even thanked Marrickville Pork Roll in the liner notes,” Cromack grins, like he’s just shared a secret.
After the sessions in Sydney, the band brought the rough tracks back to Brisbane, expecting to do some fine-tuning. But when they listened back, they realised there was no need. “We messed around a bit, trying to add things, but a lot of the songs didn’t need anything extra.”
True to the album’s theme, the band embraced simplicity. “We didn’t want over-thought arrangements. We wanted the songwriting to stand on its own. It was all about simplicity,” he says, as though that was the most obvious thing in the world.
Then there’s the second single, Please Don’t Move to Melbourne, which has stirred more than its fair share of conversation. I shared a story with Cromack about wearing a t-shirt with the song title while in Melbourne—a move that earned me more than a few side-eyes, especially in Fitzroy. I wondered, had he received similar reactions, particularly from any, let’s say, official sources?
“I haven’t heard from any government organisations,” he laughs. “But I can tell you, Brisbane’s pretty proud. Elsewhere though? It’s definitely ruffling some feathers.”
When I ask him to explain, Cromack is blunt. “In the YouTube comment sections, we’re starting to reach people outside of our usual crowd. Some real cooked units have started chiming in. But it’s funny, because the song isn’t really about Melbourne at all. You could put any city there. It’s about someone leaving—’Please don’t leave me.’”
Even though the song’s only been out for a few months, it’s already making waves, in ways Cromack and the band didn’t expect. “It’s resonating with so many people in different ways. The original inspiration was just my friends moving to Melbourne, but now, we’re seeing people relate it to their own stories. Parents whose kids are moving away… it’s strange, but in a good way.”
Despite the thrill of releasing music, Cromack admits you eventually become a bit desensitised to the excitement. But the best feedback, for him, still comes from the people closest to you. “The best feeling is when someone you care about, or another musician, tells you they love it. That’s the feedback that really means something.”
And as for the tour? It’s going to be massive—like really massive. “We’ve always loved touring Australia, seeing the whole country. So we thought, why not do something huge with this one? Cities, regional areas, all of it. Our booking agent sent us the first draft of the tour, and we looked at it and said, ‘Make it bigger. Give us every possible show, and we’ll figure it out from there.’”
Life on the road has turned Ball Park Music into more than just a band—it’s a family. Cromack even mentioned their lighting director was the first person to hear Please Don’t Move to Melbourne. “He told me he listened to it right as he landed in Melbourne. And he always says, ‘I reckon I was the first guy to do that.’”
Ball Park Music’s eighth studio album, Like Love was released on 4 April 2025. It can be streamed/ downloaded here.
